Regulus Arcturus Black - The Untold Tale
by weirdnessunleashed
Summary: CANON. The story of RAB, finally pieced together and told in full. The early days, relationship with Sirius, the glamour of the Dark Arts, the rebellion, the discovery of the locket, the adventure in the cave, and the untimely death of the teenager. (A few liberties have been taken, especially in certain areas that the HP books don't touch upon.) Rated K because, well...Inferi.
1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

 _Tom Marvolo Riddle._ Voldemort felt a flicker of annoyance when he remembered the only thing his family had left him. That irritatingly common name. But then, the name had led him to his roots, and that journey had been...beyond satisfactory.

It was on that path that he had acquired for himself the one thing that truly made him unique. Not his blood lineage, not his descent from Slytherin, not his new name that wizards everywhere feared.

His very essence. The fraction of his soul that lived within the Locket of Slytherin, the locket his desperate mother had parted with, the locket that was always supposed to be his birthright.

He had acquired it, and made it undeniably his when he bestowed upon it a part of his soul. It would protect him, and in turn, he would protect it.

In the unlikely event of his death, he would die knowing that the locket had been destroyed; for he, and he alone, had the right to own such a priceless artefact ripe with history.


	2. Chapter 2

The Blacks had always been resourceful people. It was not the kind of accidental resourcefulness that occurs once in a generation; but the careful, planned, methodical ascent through life, in whatever path they set their mind to.

Their entanglements, more often than not, fell in the grey area of the law; the sort of thing that the general population secretly condemn within the confines of their homes, and the rich and successful deliberately turn a blind eye to; on account of either having done it themselves at some point, or in order to gain favour with the ancient family.

Regulus Arcturus Black was a prodigal descendant of the Blacks if there ever was one. He mastered the family 'talents' as to speak, at an early age; and used them to hide his flourishing inquisitiveness and involvements in matters his parents might have labelled 'in poor taste'.

Regulus had always been very intelligent for his age, and had realized that himself far before the others had any inkling as to the boy's intellect. His pleasure in life came from concealing that very fact; and watching from the shadows as the pieces he nudged forward came together in the most subtle way, that no one realized he even remotely had a hand in it.

For all his uniqueness and chosen path of life, he loved Sirius Black dearly. Sometimes, he even thought Sirius knew more about him than he let on. Hogwarts had changed Sirius, sure, but he knew that if Regulus was in peril, Sirius would not hesitate to lay down his life for him.

He watched as his brother suffered in the hands of his parents and their pure blood mania. 'Don't be crude, brother,' he was once caught saying, when he caught a glimpse of the offending poster on his brother's wall. That was it, thought Regulus, Sirius was more... _daring._ Stupidly, _recklessly_ so.

Regulus strongly believed, as did his ancestors before him, in the teachings of Salazaar Slytherin. It so happened; as it often does in people who become easily bored with everyday nuances; that he was drawn to the intricacies of the Dark Arts. He had all the qualifications in place to become Voldemort's right hand man, if destiny had not intervened.


	3. Chapter 3

Looking as efficient as ever, Professor McGonagall scanned the the scroll, and called out, "Black, Regulus!"

With his heart quickening with each breath, Regulus walked to the stool. He lifted the Hat, hands shaking slightly, and placed it on his head. He knew where he wanted to end up, where he belonged; and even now it irked him that Sirius had had the gall to end up where he did.

He stared at the dark inside of the Hat for a full two seconds, his thoughts filling his head. He thought he heard a tiny amused chuckle, but before he could think further about its origin; the Hat vibrated slightly as its booming voice filled the Hall, "Slytherin!"

He made his way to the Slytherin Table, smiling despite himself. He was in a trance, he hardly noticed where he sat. He had held up Black family traditions, he had proven that his talents truly belonged in the House of Salazar Slytherin.

From where he was sitting, he could see all the four tables in the Hall. He scanned the farthest one for a glimpse of a familiar face. Almost immediately, his eyes met his brother's, a half grin on his face. Sirius Black raised his glass, nodded at his younger brother, and emptied his pumpkin juice in one gulp.

A pang of guilt shot through Regulus's spine; if anything, him being sorted into Slytherin would ensure that they drifted further apart. _Why did he have to be so damn stubborn_ , Regulus groaned inward.

But the platters full of food and the thought of his family's reaction to his Sorting soon put his mind at ease; and Sirius Black had almost vanished from his mind by the time he went to bed that night, surrounded by a slight green hue he was beginning to love. Almost.

The next morning, at breakfast, Regulus watched Sirius deep in animated conversation with James Potter, and two other boys whose names he didn't know. Sirius and James were easily the most popular boys at the table. Regulus felt a flicker of irritation. Seeing his brother laugh easily triggered a flood of emotion he was not ready for. _A Black never shows emotion in public_ , he reminded himself; but the memories came nonetheless, testing his resolve.

Sirius stealing jam tarts from the kitchen in Grimmauld Place when Regulus woke up hungry in the middle of the night; Sirius teaching him how to mount a broom, throwing stuff for him to catch; Sirius pulling a prank on their muggle neighbour when he had teased Regulus for looking 'scrawny'; Sirius owning up for the vase he, Regulus, had broken while attempting to fly around the living room. Sirius telling him tales of Hogwarts after he had recieved his letter.

But the day his brother had left for Hogwarts, things took an unexpected turn. He remembered his mother's week-long tantrum after hearing Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor. He had never seen his mother so mad, and he never again wanted to. When Sirius wrote to say that he would be spending the Christmas holidays at Hogwarts, his parents had been more relieved than concerned.

But when summer arrived, so did Sirius; and he was in for a nasty surprise. His father would regard him coldly, and his mother wouldn't even acknowledge his presence in the house. He wasn't called down for meals; and everytime they had visitors, Sirius's room would mysteriously get locked, and if it weren't for Regulus sneaking him some food through Kreacher, Sirius never came down to eat.

Worse still, his parents didn't allow Regulus any contact with Sirius, in case he corrupted his mind with 'new-fanged ideas he acquired in Gryffindor.' Caught between two sides of a war, he had listened to his parents about keeping a distance from his elder brother; and out of fear of being punished, did not sneak up to Sirius's room, as much as he sometimes wanted to.

Regulus Black was drenched in Pure-blood values, and even before his mind had begun to comprehend the choices, he was convinced that no other House but Slytherin would help him on the way to glory. A part of him knew that the treatment Sirius recieved in his house was not what his brother deserved, but saying this out loud in the Black household was about as wise as poking a sleeping Hippogriff in the eye.

Sirius had handled the situation with extreme coolness, never complaining, but always getting back in some way or the other. The first week back, he spread a Gryffindor banner on his bed. Needless to say, his father had threatened to lock him in his room if any more Gryffindor articles were left lying around.

The next day, when his mother opened his room to make sure he had removed the offending banner, she stood open-mouthed at the doorway, silently taking in everything; and then, without warning, the loudest screech ever heard in Grimmauld Place followed. For Sirius Black had not left any more banners 'lying around', he had put it up above his bed with a Permanent sticking Charm. Punishments followed, but the banner remained.

And so it continued throughout the summer. Sirius would invariably do something that would annoy his parents; and Regulus would have to bear the brunt of whatever havoc Sirius caused. His parents became irritable, annoyed, and jumpy about everything. And Regulus was no longer the pampered prince, but merely an anger outlet. By the end of summer, Regulus realized that having his brother back had been more trouble than it was worth, and was relieved when Sirius returned to Hogwarts for his Second Year.

Sirius seemed to have sensed that his parents did not want him at home unless it was absolutely unavoidable, and so he never came home for any holidays during the school year if he could help it. Time flew, and summer arrived again, bringing with it a thouroughly disgruntled Sirius Black. This time, the pranks were new, and punishments were more severe.

Regulus, however, no longer felt sorry for his brother. _Why provoke them_ , he would wonder, not understanding why his brother would choose to make life difficult for himself. But deep down, he knew. Sirius had always been a tad reckless, he had always run facefirst into danger, always acted on impluse, never giving a thought to consequences.

But all his father seemed to care about was that he had disgraced the family name, had broken Black family tradition, had run afoul of the motto _'Toujours Pur'_. Many a time, he had seen his father go for his wand when Sirius had done something; it seemed to him that the very presence of his brother in the house tested his father's resolve. Regulus knew it was wrong, yet he kept quiet.

Until that night. The night his father finally cracked. The night he saw the blatant ugliness in his family rear its head. The night he vowed never to resort to such primitive methods, however desperate the circumstances.

He didn't have to look far too see what had woken him, he could hear every scream rent the air. Shock, rather than fear, immobilized him. He knew what it was, he was almost entirely sure. The Cruciatus Curse. He willed Sirius to leave, he knew it would soon turn into murder, unless his stupid lump of a brother left the house immediately.

He picked up his wand, desparate to intervene; but what spells could a boy who had just returned from his Second Year at Hogwarts perform to counter a Cruciatus Curse? Nevertheless, Regulus walked through his door; determined to get his brother to safety by any means necessary.

A sliver of the room could be seen through the door. And Regulus saw his brother on the ground, bleeding profusely on the floor, while their father stood above him with his wand drawn. Impulsively, Regulus aimed his wand at Sirius and shouted the only spell that came to his mind.

 _'Wingardium Leviosa!'_

He watched as his brother was lifted in the air; and as though in slow motion, he was thrown out of the window, glass shattering with a sickeningly loud sound.

Regulus threw his brother as far as possible, hoping against hope that he hadn't been too late. If he had thrown him far enough to Apparate from the Black family mansion, he only hoped Sirius had enough strength left in him to manage it without splinching.

His father pulled the door fully open, took in the sight of his younger son, barely thirteen, holding his wand aloft. Regulus thought his father was about to hex him, but he looked right through him as he walked away saying, 'Good riddance.'

The next morning, his father performed the necessary spellwork to disown their eldest child; and to add insult to injury, his mother blasted Sirius's name from the family tree tapestry.

They were Blacks, they had tradition to uphold; and no one spoke of that night ever again. The name Sirius Black was never mentioned within the walls of Grimmauld Place as long as his parents were alive.

But Regulus never forgot. And he never forgave. When news of his father's death reached him a few years later, Regulus remained strangely calm. The first thing had done when he became the head of the family was to reinstate his brother as the eldest of the Blacks, albeit in secret.

Being together at Hogwarts only deepened the furow between the brothers, as if being sorted into a different House wasn't enough, he was forced to play Quiddich against Gryffindor; where he was pitted against James Potter. When Regulus's team did win, he could never embrace the celebrations fully; for him at least, the victory came with a price.


	4. Chapter 4

It was true, Regulus had indeed been intrigued by the Dark Arts, and the promises of power that Voldemort offered had seemed tempting at the time. But as the young wizard had witnessed firsthand the methods employed by the Dark Lord, he had started having second thoughts. He still considered having been specifically chosen to volunteer his elf an honor; but he would have liked it if Voldemort had been a little more forthcoming as to why he required the services of an elf. Nevertheless, he had ordered the elf to complete whatever task had been set him, and return home.

When Kreacher had indeed returned, on the brink of death; something had snapped in Regulus. Seeing the elf covering against the wall, eyes bloodshot, clutching at his throat, all the while no sound escaping him; brought back all the frustration that he had suppressed six years ago.

In his mind flashed a single painful image of his brother bleeding helplessly in this very house, on a night that was eerily similar to this one. He was older, better prepared to deal with something like this now. The house elf would not die on him. This was the moment, Regulus later realized, he had effectively stopped working for Voldemort.

He had nursed the elf back to life for weeks; in a small, dark, storage space opposite to the pantry. The house-elf himself was under orders not to show himself to anyone outside the family, for Regulus wanted no news of Kreacher's continued survival making the rounds.

The elf had simply refused to talk for the first fortnight, only whimpering painfully when Regulus had attempted communication. On a particularly difficult night, Regulus had reached for the Butterbeer to ease the elf's hysteria. Three bottles later, the elf had started talking; his story ripe with detail, racked with huge sobs and numerous hiccoughs, ultimately quivering until he had fallen into a deep slumber.

Regulus was stunned into disbelief. He had been expecting a different story, one that involved perhaps the development of a new Unforgivable Curse or some such endeavour, given the state Kreacher had been in when he had returned. But this was uncharted territory. It seemed like Kreacher had described the lost locket of Salazaar Slytherin. Regulus had heard rumours of its continued existence, and had also heard a whiff of foul play involving the last known owner.

"Oh, Sirius," he sighed out loud. His brother, with his decided recklessness and staunch anti-Pure Blood policies would be his best ally if he was going to take on Voldemort singlehandedly. But he knew this endeavour would lead to certain death, and he could not knowingly lead his brother down that path. The less people that knew about this, the better. This was his battle, he would fight it alone.

He decided to start with the locket itself. As a Slytherin, he had heard about the lost lineage of Salazar Slytherin. He traced the family back to a Marvolo Gaunt, who had died after a brief stint in Azkaban. Borgin and Burke's had been rumoured to have acquired the locket around the time of Marvolo's death. Regulus had heard tales of Burke's dealings to go poking around in the exact circumstances involved. Shortly afterwards, the locket was sold to a Smith family.

The locket was found missing when an inventory of all the belongings of one Hepzibah Smith had been conducted, quite some time after her unfortunate death. The circumstances of her death had been quite sensational, her house elf had been implicated in some kind of a mix up involving a poison.

The locket seemed to leave behind a trail of mysterious deaths that seemed to have nothing to do with Voldemort. Regulus knew enough about Voldemort's undertakings to detect the murky, suspicious circumstances under which The Dark Lord did some of his best work.

It took him all of three months to figure it out. His search took him to the most ill-advised corners of the Wizarding World, he faced horrors a normal teenager would have run from, he read the most gruesome books on ancient dark and evil magic. As he continued on his search, the words ' _experiments in conquering death_ ', and ' _path to immortality_ ' that Voldemort had used at Death Eater gatherings began to make sense.

 _A horcrux_. Voldemort had created a horcrux; that was what made him invincible. If that horcrux was destroyed, he could be killed, just like any other man. One simple incantation - Avada Kedavra, and all would be right with the world again.

But something still nagged at him in the corner of his consciousness. Another ludicrous, fantastic tale about the fourth Founder of Hogwarts. The tale of the Chamber of Secrets. If the details of the myth were to be trusted, the Heir of Slytherin could unleash a monster in the castle; and purge all those who, in Slytherin's view, were unworthy to study magic.

If Voldemort truly was the Heir of Slytherin, why hadn't he cleansed the castle of Muggle borns? Surely, The Dark Lord would have had to attend Hogwarts, just like the rest of the wizarding world. And if he had, why hadn't he unleashed Slytherin's dormant monster on the school yet?

Some well placed memory charms on a few unsuspecting elderly wizards in Hogsmeade revealed that the last time the Chamber was supposedly open, a girl had died. This was all the information he needed. He knew Voldemort had killed the girl and created a horcrux. He vowed to avenge her death, and countless others as well.

Was Voldemort, truly, the Heir of Slytherin? If he was, he would be related to the Gaunts. But there was no record of the Gaunts ever attending Hogwarts. This could have been a dead end, but the Gaunt family tree had one person he had not yet accounted for. The daughter - Merope Gaunt.

For all he knew, she had died as soon as her father and brother were sentenced to Azkaban. On a whim, Regulus decided to read up on the circumstances of their arrest, in case it turned up any information about Merope Gaunt. But no amount of research yielded anything worthwhile.

He had come so close, yet, he was missing something. If Voldemort truly was the Heir of Slytherin, it would explain why he went after the locket. But why not advertise i's presence? Why not declare to the Wizarding World that he was the Heir of Slytherin? Why keep it a secret?


	5. Chapter 5

He went back to the only lead he had. The Gaunts. The details of the arrest were not hard to procure, for a person with connections like Regulus Black. Father and son were both arrested for resisting arrest and attacking officials from the Ministry of Magic. The son, however, had a longer rap sheet. He was accused of crimes against a Muggle, something about hexing him and causing him to erupt in painful hives. There was no mention of Merope Gaunt in the report.

 _Maybe_ , he reasoned, _maybe Merope never left her family home; maybe he could track her down._ It was a theory formed on very thin ice, but he was fast running out of leads, and a vague inkling told him to completely exhaust this option before calling it hopeless.

As Regulus walked down the dusty path to the village of Little Hamilton, he decided his best bet would be the village pub. With his easy charm, he soon persuaded the bartender to have a few drinks with him; but it turned out the man was willing to spill his guts about anything he was asked, even without a single drop of alcohol in his veins. But no one seemed to recall a family called the Gaunts having ever lived in the village.

The bartender, however, wanting to impress this well-dressed young gentleman; regaled him with tales of a triple murder that had occurred in the village not so long ago. That caught the young man's attention; but not for reasons the bartender knew or suspected. Regulus knew an Avada Kedavra murder when he heard about one.

He pressed for details, but the bartender had already told him all he knew about the murder. "The maid came running straight here after she found them, you see. You can imagine the fright she had; the entire family was dead around the dinner table. That family always seems to have something or the other happening to them."

"What do you mean, what else happened?"

"Well, rumour has it that Tom Riddle had an affair with that ugly little girl who lived in the tiny cottage at the edge of the village. No one really knows much about it."

And to prove how much no one in the village knew about it, the patrons of the bar proceeded to tell Regulus about the scandal that had seized the village many years earlier. Regulus learned how the son of the village chief had eloped with the daughter of the violent tramp and who 'never actually had been a part of the village'.

He listened, enthralled, about how Tom Riddle had returned alone a few months later, saying something about having been manipulated into the relationship to begin with. "I reckon she told him she was pregnant with his child," said the bartender sagely, and when he found out she was lying, well...", he shrugged.

Regulus remained unnaturally still as he processed what he heard. He had learned more about Voldemort than he had meant to when he had set out on his quest. And he had the answer to his question.

Voldemort was, undoubtedly, the Heir of Slytherin. He had traced the Gaunt family tree straight to its last living descendant, Tom Riddle Junior. But beyond scandalous was the revelation that Voldemort was, himself, _a Half Blood_ , and he had known it all along.

It was probably at this moment that his hatred for Voldemort reached its peak. Claiming to be pureblood was one thing, but the countless number of people he had murdered for nothing more than their blood status, a blood status Voldemort shared with them, enraged Regulus beyond anything the Death Eaters had done.

His pure plood mania came roaring back for an instant, when he realized that Voldemort had tainted what was Salazar Slytherin's locket with a part of his illegitimate half-blood soul.

He was filled with unrelenting rage as he thought of all those days he had spent idolising Voldemort; collecting snippets of his conquests from the Daily Prophet, the exhilaration he had felt at finally being a part of the Death Eaters. All that was being replaced by a feverish thirst for revenge.

The next few hours passed in a blur of emotion; and a reckless plan began to form in his head. Whatever Regulus Black might have been, he was not stupid. He knew, sooner or later, Voldemort would come for him. He knew he had to act quickly; and his plan meant almost certain death, which was going to be drawn out and painful. Either way, he did not expect to remain alive for much longer.

But he wanted Voldemort to know it was him, Regulus Arcturus Black, who had discovered his secret. He wanted Voldemort to know that it was he who had made him mortal once again.

He was back in the Black mansion, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he prepared himself for the fateful journey that would be his last. He frantically scribbled a note to the Dark Lord; detailing what he had done, and concealed it inside the fake locket.

It had to be today, there was no point in waiting. Every minute he lived with the knowledge he had acquired was time he spent putting himself and his family in danger.

He summoned the reluctant house elf, told him what had to be done. There was no point in telling Kreacher more than he needed to know. All the elf had to do was take him to the cave, replace the locket, and get the real locket to safety; where Regulus could, if he survived, figure out a way to destroy it.

Taking one last look at his childhood bedroom, Regulus Black and his faithful family elf left Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London; not knowing that fate would allow only one of them to return.


	6. Chapter 6

Breathing in lungfuls of sea air, Regulus stood on a cliff, overlooking the vast, blue expanse. Led by the elf, he swam across the almost hidden stretch of relatively calmer water.

He pulled out the flask of blood he had brought along, and smeared it across the rock. He wasn't sure if dragon blood would work, (but if Kreacher's blood had worked the last time, there was a chance it would), and Regulus didn't want to make himself physically weaker before entering the blasted cave. Nothing happened. Smiling bitterly, Regulus pulled out his knife, and amid loud remonstrations from Kreacher, he sliced open his hand, and squirted the blood on the rock. It had to be warm blood, he reasoned, shaking his head slightly the crudeness of the design. His contemplation about how far Tom Riddle would go to weaken his adversaries were put out of his mind when the outline of an arch suddenly blazed bright silver, and the rock simply vanished into nothingness.

Armed with nothing but his wand and a quivering elf by his side, the eighteen year old stepped inside; knowing exactly what horrors awaited him in the dense darkness within.

The vast, smooth, glass-like expanse of dark water stretching before them sent chills down his spine, he was not sure if it was the conspicuous powerfulness of the place, or the calm, ominous beauty of the dark, misty cave. He followed, his eyes on the distant green mist, as the loyal house elf led him to an unremarkable spot on the banks.

"Master has to pull on the snake-rope, and the boat will appear," said the elf, in a hoarse whisper. His huge eyes darted in all directions, as if he expected Voldemort to materialize from the blackness.

"Master Regulus, please come home. This is no place for a young boy."

"Kreacher, we had a deal. You promised."

The house elf could not come up with an argument against this obvious fact, and so stood there with his knees shaking so badly they were knocking against each other.

Regulus found the spot; it was difficult to describe, it was as though air had slightly congealed over the space. He closed his first around it and pulled out his wand with the other, teetering over the edge of the water. He tapped his fist with the wand, and at once, a ghostly green chain appeared out of nowhere.

It coiled around his hand, and made quite a loud racket as it raised a boat from the silky black water. The noise died down almost instantly, leaving the cave seemingly more silent than it had been before.

Regulus regarded the boat with a warily, like he couldn't believe it had been this easy. Wand at the ready, he stepped inside; followed by Kreacher, who was now regarding the water with the utmost loathsome he was capable of. As the boat's prow cleaved soundlessly through the still waters; neither of the occupants showed any signs of having seen anything alarming in the water below, though there had been quite a few.

As the boat glided to a halt; Kreacher tried, once again, to reason with Regulus. But whatever he wanted to say, whatever argument he had come up with since leaving the banks, the words died on his lips when he saw the blazing look in Regulus's eyes.

They disembarked; the unnaturally quiet house elf, and the lanky teenager whose pale face was now tinged an unnatural green from the glow emitted by the stone basin. He stepped closer to the source of light, the potion looked almost harmless, but Regulus knew better.

He reached out to touch the ghostly green liquid, but his fingers encountered a resistance, a protective cocoon of slightly denser air all around the phosphorescent surface. He tried to Vanish it, to Transfigure it, to simply empty it out, but it refused to budge.

He also knew what had to be done, having been wisely informed by a drunk Kreacher. He waved his wand in a sort of complex jiggle, and a crystal goblet materialized from thin air. The goblet sank through the dense air with no qualms of any sort.

"Remember your promise, Kreacher. Replace the locket as soon as the potion is over. Make sure I keep drinking, Kreacher, even if I beg you to stop. Do you understand? If I don't make it..."

The elf gave a strangled sort of cry at this.

As though he hadn't heard anything, Regulus continued, "If I don't make it back, destroy the locket. _That is an order, Kreacher_. Destroy the damned thing. I also forbid you from telling anyone in our family where I've gone, or what you know about this entire ordeal. Not even mother. Do you understand?"

The elf looked at him for a full minute before nodding slowly.

"Remember your promise. _Make me drink the potion._ And leave this place at the first sign of danger. Take the locket and go. And Kreacher? Don't come back."

At this point, the elf backed away slowly, tears leaking through his fingers as he covered his face, trying to hold them back.

Regulus took a deep breath and turned to the stone basin. He let his hatred for Voldemort flow through him, and plunged the goblet into the liquid. As he drained the second cup, he remembered the first time Voldemort had used the Cruciatus Curse on him for speaking out of turn. This was equally painful, if not more, considering he was doing this to himself.

He dropped to his knees, hands shaking terribly. The goblet rolled away, and the elf for a moment considered leaving it there. But he had been given a direct order, and it took him all of his strength to fight it. Against his will, the tiny creature picked it up; filled it with potion, and poured out it down Regulus's throat; positively wailing as he emptied goblet after goblet into Regulus's mouth.

After the tenth cup, Regulus collapsed on the floor, his head filled with scenes of horror he had witnessed as a Death Eater; the helplessness with which he looked on, the panic he had experienced when he had found out to what lengths Voldemort was prepared to go to inspire fear; images of his brother on the floor, writhing in agony.

Regulus screamed in pain, a sound that haunted Kreacher as long as he lived. The liquid was almost gone now, his Master was whimpering in pain, curled up in a ball on the floor. As Kreacher filled the last goblet, he was seized by a thought.

He would not be disobeying any direct orders, and he could not bring himself to feed more to the young boy he had watched grow up. The elf straightened himself up, and with a steady hand, scooped up the remaining potion; and, with a determined look on his scared face, emptied the contents down his own throat.

He immediately doubled over in pain, but was conscious enough to carry out the order his young Master had given him. He picked up the locket, replaed it; and turned to see Regulus, to tell him they had done what they had come for, to tell him that they could go home.

All the blood drained from Kreacher's face when he saw where Regulus was. In his stupor, Regulus had dragged himself to the edge of the lake, groping for water. Kreacher watched, horrified, as Regulus's hand touched the inky blackness. He screamed a warning, too late, as a marble white hand broke the surface of the water; as though in slow motion, and closed over Regulus's wrist.

Regulus was jerked into lucidity as he was slowly dragged under the ice cold liquid, and he fought to remain on land. The movement triggered more Inferi to rise from the depths of the lake, and in a few moments, Regulus was surrounded by glistening, dirty, cold bodies that wanted nothing more than to drag him down to the depths from whence they came.

Regulus's life did not flash in front of him as he came to terms with his mortality. He was going to die, and there was no stopping it. He screamed at Kreacher to get out of the cave, and watched till his tiny companion disappeared, satisfied that he had atleast saved one life. His brother's face flashed in front of him; Sirius Black, fighting the same fight against Voldemort; the fight that he did not know Regulus had also joined.

 _To the world, to his brother, he would always be a Death Eater._ The thought gave him a surge of anger powerful enough to regain his bearings for the fraction of a second. He whipped out his wand, and conjured a circle of fire; waist-deep in water, surrounded by Inferi; a lone eighteen year old, alone in the cave, keeping the Inferi felt almost hopeful, when a hand closed around his ankle.

Try as he might, he was no match for the force with which he was pulled underwater. The raging fire sputtered to nothingness, as the wizard that had conjured it gasped for air, lungs filling with ice, eyes tinged red; until finally, with one last feeble breath, he stopped fighting.

Regulus Arcturus Black sank into the depths of the icy blackness, along with hundreds of lifeless others, forever cursed to guard the secret of the man who had, essentially, murdered him in cold blood.


	7. Chapter 7

EPILOGUE

Eighteen years later, Harry Potter would plunge his hand desperately into the still, dark waters of the lake where the cold, enchanted body of Regulus Black lay in wait with a hundred others.

He would never realize that the clammy hand that gripped his wrist was, in fact, that of an eighteen year old boy who had died, fighting for the same cause; unknown, unseen, unsung.


End file.
